


Sharpe's Lady

by InkSiren



Series: Sharpe's Fanfic [2]
Category: Sharpe (TV), Sharpe - All Media Types, Sharpe Series - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cannon Typical Language, Cats, Fluff, Gen, Huddling For Warmth, Hypothermia, Patrick is Tired, Protective Patrick Harper, Richard is a cat person Bernard made the rules, Team as Family, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27910423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkSiren/pseuds/InkSiren
Summary: Richard got separated from the Rifles and the night grows cold and dark. Patrick is forced to wait until dawn to continue his search, and he worries there won't be a man left to find by then.AKA Patrick loses Richard and Richard barely escapes deadly hypothermia.
Series: Sharpe's Fanfic [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034673
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Sharpe's Lady

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueNeutrino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueNeutrino/gifts).



> Another in my advent collection written for my friend. Evidence of Richard as a cat person is in Sharpe's Triumph when he's pouty and upset and picks up a stray cat to pet to console himself.

Patrick had never been much of a cat person. He didn't mind them, but they tended to be aloof and reminded him of the sort of people who went to parties and spoke ill of each other with a smile and the salute of a wine glass. A dog was more his kind of animal, and sometimes he wondered about keeping one in the future for his son to grow up with. 

Richard reminded him of a dog, vibrant and lively and ready to tackle any problem, sometimes entirely literally. It was extra strange, then, that Richard loved cats. 

Major Sharpe simply couldn't resist a stray cat and Patrick's clucked mutter of, "Sir it's bound to have fleas," fell on deaf ears every time. 

Patrick never thought he'd understand why Richard tried to pet, talk to, and otherwise befriend every cat they found as cats didn’t seem to care one way or the other. 

Then the snows fell in a foggy, glittering mist, the chosen men were separated, and a cat, of all things, saved Richard Sharpe’s life. 

"Major! Sir!" Patrick was shivering all the way through, straining in a sloppy, icy-mud countryside trying to find his friend. The sun was nearly gone and even though he knew Sharpe was far too clever to die easy it was eating at Harper's gut that he'd not found him yet. 

Somehow Richard had been split from him and the rest of the rifles during a skirmish and even though all the chosen men had found each other again, their chosen leader had not and it was getting dangerously dark. 

"Major Sharpe!" Patrick tried again, catching himself on a rough tree as his boots slipped in the mud. He panted heavily, knowing he was in the last dregs of his strength and yet reluctant to return to camp. If he quit now, he'd have to wait till morning.

Two more shaky steps and Patrick was on his knees, throat closing with painful frustration. He didn't have a choice. The cold got nasty at night and for all he knew Richard was wounded and freezing to death, but Patrick would do him no service by going down with him. 

He would just have to pray till the frost broke at dawn. 

He passed a miserable night, eating little and sleeping less. When he did manage to drift off, he kept dreaming of finding Richard too late, his body already stiff and cold. Patrick jolted awake from those, gripped in a chill so deep it felt rooted in his heart. 

Worst was the last dream before he decided to just stay awake and count breaths until daybreak. In that horrible vision Richard had still been warm, but despite Patrick's pleading there'd been no spark of life in his eyes. 

It was barely light enough to see when he could take it no longer and left camp.

Another fruitless hour had Patrick rapidly falling to despair when the black smudge of a crude barn caught his attention. Something inside him sparked like the whisper of God and Patrick found himself walking faster and then running, convinced Richard was inside. 

Gold light from beneath a cloud-capped morning bled in across scattered straw as Patrick slipped through the door, casting around for his Major. 

A dark lump in the corner sent his heart racing further and he stumbled over, relief and aching worry mixing sickeningly in his chest. 

"Major," he said in a frantic whisper, settling a hand on Richard's shoulder. He was partly buried in musty straw and the shreds of a saddle blanket, but his skin was still pale and the hand Patrick clasped was icy. 

A groan broke the morning quiet, a weak fog of breath issuing between Richard's white lips. Relief poured through Patrick so strongly that he felt lightheaded and for a moment all he could do was hold Sharpe's hand in both of his own and press it to his brow as he whispered prayers of gratitude. 

Just as he was opening his eyes, a shuffling caught his attention and he frowned, noticing now a bundle of something nestled inside Richard's jacket. One arm was curled protectively around the lump, his body molded in sleep like he'd been trying to surround the thing and shield it. 

Morbidly fascinated, Patrick carefully pulled back Richard's collar to find two bright green eyes staring back at him. He jerked his hand back in surprise. A cat. Major Sharpe had a black cat tucked into his coat against his chest, and by the look of it the cat was not interested in moving. 

Richard, being the bleeding heart he was, must have found the cat in the barn and tucked her away to try and warm her in the night. 

There was no way the cat would have stayed if Sharpe had merely snatched her up as a source of warmth, though the mental image did bring a chuckle to Patrick's exhausted features. 

No, Richard must have taken pity on the poor beast and as Patrick caught a glimpse of the warmer, healthier skin at Sharpe's collar he was starting to think the cat had damn well been the reason he was still breathing at all. She'd stayed tucked in right next to his heart and part of his lungs, an active warmth to help bolster his own. In disbelief, Patrick hesitantly stroked the cat and then carefully worked his way beneath the silky fur to feel Sharpe's chest. 

The cat shifted a little, butting her head into his knuckles with a soft “brrp” but did not move away and so Patrick felt her warmth on the back of his hand even as he felt his Major's heart beating softly into his palm. 

“Well, who would have ever guessed that?” he whispered, huffing a laugh that fogged as the cat blinked lazily up at him. 

Patrick was in a state of disbelief that bordered on awe. This gently purring omen of ill will had saved Richard's life, warming the blood lacing his most vital organs and protecting his heart so it could handle the shock as it fought to see him through the night. He knew that the best way to help a man stricken with cold was body heat focused on keeping the chest warm, so even if he lost a finger or two to frostbite he’d live to learn how to load with a different hand. 

“You are a stroke of strange luck now aren’t you?” he asked the cat. “I’ve nothing to thank you with, but I am obliged.”

Wanting to rouse Richard but not wanting the cat to retaliate, Patrick tried to gently remove her. That was met with a sharp hiss and a swat of a paw and Patrick pulled back sharply. 

"Now you listen well miss," he hissed back. "I've been watching him a fair bit longer than you so you'll kindly let me have him back."

“Harper?”

"Sir!"

The voice was thin, and shivering, and Patrick lit up, more than relieved at the sound of it. It broke through the unsettling silence of the morning like the sun piercing cloud and he gripped Richard’s shoulder, grinning. 

“This is right indecent sir, I don’t mind saying. Run off with a lady in the night and left all of us poor bastards back at camp to attend your duties. You should be ashamed.”

Richard frowned lightly, like the accusation confused him before the cat pressed her head back into his sternum and he looked down, twitching in surprise as he shivered. "Oh," he said, his teeth audibly clicking as his body realized what a state it was in. "That lady." 

"I took her for a lady anyhow, you seem to find any close by and I've yet to see a tomcat with fur that silky. She told me off when I tried to move her along and everything. Do you think you can stand?"

Slowly, Richard shifted in the straw and scraps, and Patrick helped him sit up. The cat, her bed disturbed at last, jumped free of Richard's coat and shook herself, sitting primly in a sunbeam and looking at them both as Patrick helped his major with buttons his fingers were too numb for. Richard kept his eyes on her, shivering violently as Pat helped him stand and threw an extra blanket around his shoulders. 

"We should bring her back with us, she can keep the mice out of the grain," Sharpe said, leaning on Patrick, curling almost pathetically into the larger man's heat. Patrick welcomed the behavior and wrapped his arm around but shook his head. 

"Sir, you know cats are as flighty as sparrows you'll never keep track of her and when she leaves you'll be heartbroken." 

"She stayed all night, Pat," he protested as they slowly moved from the barn. 

"And I'm in her debt but I can only carry you and my volley gun, not your mistress too."

"You could," Richard said, but it was more petulant than actually arguing. "She weighs naut."

"If she's in love with you like most lass after a night, I'm certain she'll follow."

Much to Richard's later delight and Patrick's chagrin, she did.


End file.
